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A  Acul 


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L  J'J  ffuyj  a~>  cC       r*ff* 


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THE  BUILDING   OF  THE  CHURCH   OF   ST. -DENIS. 


775 


service  with  His  divine 
voice.  And  having 
completed  the  office. 
He  called  the  trem- 
bling leper  to  Him 
and  made  him  whole, 
drawing  from  him  his 
leprous  skin ,  which  He 
flung  against  the  wall, 
where  it  remained  mi- 
raculously fixed  in  the 
image  of  life  as  a  tes- 
timony of  the  mira- 
cle. Then  He  bade 
the  poor  man  go  and 
tell  what  he  had  wit- 
nessed. When  the 
king  heard  it  he  hast- 
ened to  the  church 
with  all  his  train,  and 
having  beheld  the 
signs  of  the  consecra- 
tion and  the  marks  of 
the  holy  water  and 
holy  oil  used  by  the 
Lord  of  lords,  and  see- 
ing the  leper's  skin  at- 
tached to  the  wall,  he 
forbade  all  other  con- 
secration. For  centu- 
ries the  skin  of  the 
leper  was  preserved, 

encased  in  silver,  as  a  most  sacred  relic. 
The  retention  of  the  old  walls  thus  divine- 
ly consecrated  may  account  for  the  fact 
that  hardly  ninety  years  after  the  comple- 
tion of  Suger's  work,  during  the  reign  of  St. 
Louis,  the  nave  required  reconstruction. 
The  aisles  of  the  choir  and  the  chapels  of 
the  apse  remain  to-day  as  they  were  con- 
structed in  the  twelfth  century,  while  the 
west  front,  and  the  door  of  the  north 
transept,  though  in  part  restored,  retain 
many  of  their  original  features,  and  ex- 
hibit their  original  design. 

Suger  lived  long  enough  to  sec  his 
work  essentially  complete.  He  describes 
with  genial  satisfaction  the  glorious 
painted  windows,  the  costly  altars,  the 
jewelled  vessels  and  crosses  of  gold  witli 
which  he  adorned  the  church.  The 
wealth  of  the  abbey  and  the  offerings  of 
the  pious  sufficed  to  heap  together  trea- 
sures that  could  be  compared  with  those 
of  St.  Sophia,  at  Constantinople.  Such 
treasures  were  safer  within  church  walls 
then  elsewhere.  In  1151  lie  died,  ami 
was  laid  in  his  tomb  within  the  most 
splendid  church  in  the  realm  of  France, 


IX   THE    CRYPT. 

the  church  for  which  he  had  cared,  as  he 
himself  says,  as  for  nothing  else  under 
heaven. 

The  old  church  had  been  the  burial- 
place  of  the  kings  of  France,  and  in  the 
new  church  king  after  king  was  laid 
to  sleep  with  his  fathers,  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  patron  saint  of  the  realm, 
and  with  the  sacred  banner,  the  ori- 
flamme  of  France,  hanging  above  them. 
Here  rested  the  ashes  of  St.  Louis,  his 
memory  giving  a  new  consecration  to  the 
holy  place.  St. -Denis  was  the  scene  from 
age  to  age  of  man 3  a  famous  ceremony. 
It  was  associated  with  the  proudest  mem 
oriesof  France.  But  in  the  heighl  of  the 
French  Revolution,  not  a  hundred  years 
ago,  when  France  revolted  againsi  her 
own  past,  the  good  of  it  as  well  as  the 

had.  when  the  town  of  Si.  Denis  Was  to 
he  known  no  longer  by  its  old  name,  hut 
thenceforth  was  to  be  called  Franciade, 
the  church  was  sacked  and  desecrated  by 
a  drunken  mob,  the  tombs  were  rum 
maged  and  emptied,  the  dusl  and  the 
holes  of  kings  and  saints  were  heaped  up 
pell   mell   together;    the  statues   were  hack 


776 


HARPERS   NEW 


ed  and  broken,  the  windows — the  work 
of  the  artists  whom  Suger  had  employed 
— were  shivered  to  pieces,  and  everything 
of  price  and  worth  was  ruined,  or  carried 
oil' as  booty.  The  work  of  destruction  went 
on  for  three  days,  till  there  was  nothing 
left  but  bare  walls  and  fragments  of 
works    that    time    never    could    replace; 


MONT 

even  \nift 

off  to 

ter  this  the 

market  place. 

In  later  years  what  could  be  done  in 
the  way  of  restoration  was  effected.  But 
the  marks  of  such  acts  of  brutal  folly  are 
never  to  be  obliterated. 


as  stripped 

or  a  time  af- 

vas  used  as  an  open 


AN    OLD    LANCASTER    HOUSE. 


A    PECULIAR   PEOPLE. 

BY   HOWARD   PYI.K. 


THE  city  of  Lancaster  is  bustling  and 
progressive.  But  here  and  there, 
crowded  in  between  structures  of  modern 
date,  are  remnants  of  old  times,  curious 
little  houses  one  story  high,  with  very 
steep  roofs  and  one  or  two  dormer-win- 
dows peeping  over  the  edge.  They  are 
the  houses  of  old  German  Lancaster.  One 
visiting  this  old  town  is  struck  by  the  pe- 
culiarly foreign  appearance  of  main  of 
the  folk  he  meets.  He  sees  a  smooth- 
shaven,  long-haired  people — -the  Mennon- 
ite  Baptists — and  here  and  there  long- 
bearded  members  of  the  Dunker  or  Ger- 
man Baptist  sect,  both  speaking  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch.      It  is  of  the  latter  people. 


and  of  a  sect  springing  from  them,  that  we 
have  here  chiefly  to  speak. 

Some  fifteen  miles  from  Lancaster  by 
turnpike  and  twenty  by  rail  lies  the  little 
village  of  Ephrata.  It  is  a  very  secluded, 
sleepy-looking  little  place,  in  spite  of  the 
railroad  that  runs  through  it,  shut  in 
by  surrounding  hills  and  by  a  low  line 
of  mountains  dignified  by  the  name  of 
Ephrata  Ridge.  The  houses  of  the  town 
straggle  along  a  broad  road  which  crosses 
the  railroad  near  the  station,  clips  away 
tin  til  it  sweeps  around  in  a  curve  over  a 
bridge,  past  an  old  mill  in  front  of  a  broad- 
built  red  brick  house,  and  so  away  into 
the  country.     The  houses,  generally  brick- 


A   PECULIAR   PEOPLE. 


777 


built,   in    many    cases    old  fashioned,   are 
very  comfortable  and  home-like. 

Here  one  meets  the  Dunker  per  se  in 
every  by-road  and  lane — men  with  long 
beards  and  flowing  hair  parted  in  the  mid- 
dle. At  the  farm-houses  are  pleasant, 
matronly  faces,  stamped  with  humility 
and  gentleness,  while  an  air  of  almost 
saintly  simplicity  is  given  by  the  clear- 
starched cap,  the  handkerchief  crossed  on 
the  breast,  the  white  apron,  and  the  plain 
gray  or  drab  stuff  of  the  dresses. 

The  style  of  living-  of  these  good  people, 
their  manners  and  customs,  are  of  the 
most  primitive  type.  Their  aim  is  to  imi- 
tate the  early  Christians  in  their  habits  of 
life  as  well  as  in  their  religious  tenets. 
There  is  absolutely  no  distinction  of  caste 
among-  them. 

They  settled  at  first  near  Philadelphia, 
in  a  spot  which  has  since  been  called 
Germantown,  from  the  various  German 
religious  refugees  who  settled  there  in 
the  early  part  of  the  last 
century.  The  sect  is  now 
chiefly  con  lined  to  cen- 
tral and  western  Pennsyl- 
vania, but  has  spread  to 
other  States,  principally 
those  of  the  Northwest, 
though  there  are  church- 
es established  in  western 
Maryland.  West  Virginia, 
and  North  Carolina.  Their 
dress  is  of  the  simplest  de- 
scription, quaint  and  old- 
fashioned  in  its  cut;  they 
offer  no  resistance  to  inju- 
ries; they  observe  no  con- 
formity with  the  world  and 
its  manners  and  customs; 
they  refuse  to  take  oaths  in 
courts  of  law:  in  these  and 
many  other  ways  resem- 
bling the  Society  of  Friends. 

Some  of  their  religious 
ceremonies  are  exceeding 
ly  curious.  They  celebrate 
tin'  Lord's  Supper  after  t be 
manner  of  the  primitive 
Christians. 

The  feast  begins  about 
the  time  of  candle-lighting. 
The  men  are  seated  upon 
one  side  of  the  meeting 
bouse,  the  women  upon  the 
other.  The  lii-st  ceremony 
is  that  of  the  washing  of 
feet,  eacli   sex    performing 


this  duty  for  its  own.  Those  who  are 
to  engage  in  the  ordinance  presently 
enter  the  meeting,  carrying  tubs  of  luke- 
warm water,  and  each  member  on  the 
front  benches  removes  his  or  her  sIkm-s 
and  stockings.  A  man  on  the  men's  side 
and  a  woman  on  the  women's  then  wash 
the  feet  one  by  one,  taking  the  righl 
hand  of  each  individual,  as  they  finish 
the  washing,  and  giving  the  kiss  of  peace. 
After  the  one  who  performs  the  washing 
follows  another  with  a  long  towel  girded 
around  the  waist,  who  wipes  the  feet  just 
washed,  at  the  same  time  giving  the  right 
hand  and  the  kiss  of  peace.  As  one 
benchful  has  the  ceremony  performed,  it 
gives  place  to  another.  While  this  cer- 
emony is  being  conducted,  the  minister 
or  teachers  make  a  brief  speech  or  read 
appropriate  portions  of  Scripture  relating 

to  the  subject. 

The  next  ceremony  is  the  supper  itself. 
Each  third  bench  is  so  arranged  that  the 


\    DORMITORY    in     I'll     SISTERS     HOUSE     I  I'lIK  \i\ 


778 


HARPER'S   NEW    MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


THE    KLOSTER. 


back  can  be  turned  upon  a  pivot  at  each 
end,  so  as  to  form  the  top  of  a  long  table. 
This  is  covered  with  a  white  cloth,  and 
presently  brothers  and  sisters  enter,  bear- 
ing large  plates  or  bowls  of  soup,  which 
are  placed  upon  the  tables.  Three  or 
four  people  help  themselves  out  of  the 
same  dish.  After  this  the  communion  is 
administered,  and  the  whole  ceremony  is 
concluded  by  the  singing  of  hymns  and 
preaching.  This  the  brethren  hold  is  the 
only  true  method  of  administering  the  or- 
dinance of  the  Last  Supper,  and  also  hold 
that  it  is  similar  to  that  ceremony  as  cele- 
brated in  the  earliest  Christian  Church. 

Another  peculiar  ordinance  among 
them  is  that  of  anointing  the  sick  with 
oil,  in  accordance  with  the  text  in  James, 
v.  14.  The  sick  one  calls  upon  the  elders 
of  the  meeting,  and  at  a  settled  time  the 
ceremony  is  performed.  It  consists  of 
pouring  oil  upon  the  head  of  the  sick  per- 
son, of  laying  hands  upon  them,  and  pray- 
ing over  them. 

The  ordinance  of  baptism  is  adminis- 
tered in  running  water  and  by  threefold 
immersion,  the  officiating  minister  then 
laying  his  hands  upon  the  recipient,  who 
still  kneels  in  the  water,  and  praying  over 
him  or  her. 


The  ministers  or  teachers,  who  receive 
no  stipend  whatever,  are  elected  by  the 
votes  of  the  members  of  the  church,  he 
who  I'eceives  the  largest  number  of  votes 
being  pronounced  elected.  These  elec- 
tions are  summoned  by  the  elders  of  the 
church,  who  preside  over  them  and  re- 
ceive the  votes  of  the  people,  either  viva 
voce,  in  whispers,  or  by  closed  ballots.  If 
no  candidate  has  a  majority,  or  if  there 
are  a  greater  number  of  blank  votes  cast 
than  for  any  one  candidate,  the  election 
is  pronounced  void. 

Such  is  a  brief  and  condensed  account 
of  these  people,  and  of  their  religious  cus- 
toms and  ordinances.  They  are  called 
Dunkers,  or  Tunkers,  from  the  German 
tunlcen,  which  may  be  interpreted  to  dip, 
or  probably  "to  sop"  is  a  better  equiva- 
lent word.  They  assume  for  themselves 
the  name  Brethren  on  account  of  the 
text  Matthew,  xxiii.  8,  "  One  is  your  Mas- 
ter, even  Christ,  and  all  ye  are  brethren." 
They  also  sometimes  call  themselves 
"  God's  Peculiar  People." 

The  first  visit  we  ever  made  to  a  Dun- 
ker  meeting  was  on  a  cold  day  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  November.  The  wind  piped 
across  the  snow-clad  hills  and  over  the 
level  white  valleys,  nipping  the  nose  and 


A    PECULIAR   PEOPLE. 


779 


making  the  cheeks  feel  stiff  like  leather. 
As  we  neared  the  straggling,  old-fashion- 
ed-looking town  we  passed  an  old  farmer 
of  the  neighborhood  and  his  wife  trudg- 
ing toward  the  meeting-house,  the  long 
gray  beard  of  the  former  tangling  in  the 
wind  or  wrapping  itself  around  neck  and 


ing-house  were  collected  the  farm  wagons 
and  dearborns  of  the  folk,  who  themselves 
crowded  into  the  low  brick  building,  the 
men  by  one  door,  the  women  by  the 
other. 

The  ceiling  was  low ;  the  room  was  sun- 
nv  and  bright:  there  were  two  stoves,  one 


GOING    To    MEETING. 


breast,  and  further  on  a  young  couple  in 
the  quaint  costume  of  the  people,  pictu- 
resque figures  against  the  white  of  the 
broad-stretching  road.     Around  the  meet 


at  either  end  of  the  building,  af  which 
warmed  themselves  the  white-capped  sis 
ters  at  one  end,  the  Long  bearded  brethren 
at  (be  other,  the  latter  standing  with  their 


Vol.    TA'XIX       No    471  -  7  I 


780 


HARPER'S   NEW   MONTHLY   MAGAZINE. 


THE    KISS    OF   PEACE. 

backs  to  the  stove,  holding  their  horny 
palms  to  the  warmth  and  rubbing  thern 
together.  Presently  a  minister  entered, 
and  as  he  moved  to  the  long  table  where 
his  two  confreres  sat  facing  the  congrega- 
tion, he  passed  by  the  bench  of  the  elder 
brethren.  One  after  another  of  those 
nearest  to  him  arose,  the  two  right  hands 
were  clasped,  and  the  two  long  gray 
beards  met  in  the  kiss  of  peace. 

A  hymn  Avas  sung  in  English,  with  a 
peculiar  quavering  of  the  voice  and  lin- 
gering upon  each  word.  A  hymn  in  Ger- 
man followed  ;  then  a  sermon  in  German ; 
then  a  second  in  the  same  language.  The 
second  preacher  threw  into  his  tones  a  pe- 
culiar intonation  which  we  learned  was 
chai'acteristic  of  these  people.  It  was  a 
rather  high-pitched  monotone,  carried 
throughout  the  sentence,  and  dropped 
only  at  the  last  word.  The  gestures  were 
easy  and  natural,  and  every  now  and 
then  the  voice  dropped  suddenly  into  a 


colloquialism  absolutely 
startling,  as  the  preach- 
er directed  some  broad 
truth  based  on  human 
nature  directly  at  the 
hearts  of  his  hearers.  A 
sermon  in  English  fol- 
lowed, and  the  service 
was  concluded  }>y  anoth- 
er German  hymn  and 
the  reading  of  a  portion 
of  Scripture. 

It.  was   from  this  peo- 
ple that  a  sect,  probably 
one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing in  this  country,  took 
its  rise;  a  sect  once  nu- 
merous, now  nearly  ex- 
tinct; once  wealthy  in  fat 
lands  and  busy  manufac- 
tories, now  poor,  though 
still  having  many  of  the 
comforts  of  life — the  Ger- 
man  Seventh  -  day  Bap- 
tists.   They  live  as  a  semi- 
commune,  having  only  a 
degree  of  community  of 
interests  in  the  estate  of 
the  society.    They  are  an 
ideal  republic,  where  ev- 
ery man  is  of  perfectly 
equal    standing    in    the 
society,  and  they  are  a 
monastic   order  without 
enforced  celibacy  or  mo- 
nastic vows. 
Near  the  broad  road  along  which  Eph- 
rata  stretches  its  straggling  row  of  houses 
stands  a  curious  pile  of  buildings  of  quaint, 
old-fashioned  architecture.      The  larger 
are  weather-boarded  with  planks  or  shin- 
gle;  the  smaller,  which  have  something 
of  a  foreign  look — half  Swiss,  half  Ger- 
man— are  built  of  stone.     The  main  build- 
ings stand  on  a  little  rise  of  ground,  the 
others,    some    larger,    some    smaller,    of 
frame  and  stone,  are  scattered  around  in 
its  neighborhood. 

The  buildings  standing  on  the  mound, 
which  loom  up  before  us  the  moment  we 
enter  the  ground,  are  great  steep-roofed 
houses,  several  stories  in  height,  spotted 
by  many  very  small  windows  twinkling 
in  the  sunlight.  The  flooring  beams 
of  good  sound  poplar  pierce  through  the 
Avails  and  are  pinned  upon  the  outside. 
The  buildings  are  gray  and  haggard  with 
age  ;  here  and  there  the  clapboards  are 
loose  ;   and  there  is  that  peculiar  blind, 


A   PECULIAR   PEOPLE. 


781 


sightless  look  that  broken  windows  lend 
to  an  old  house.  These  are  the  remains 
of  the  old  enclosed  village  of  Ephrata, 
once  the  centre  of  busy  life  and  energy, 
now  rapidly  crumbling  to  decay.  The 
buildings  are  those  of  the  Kloster  (clois- 
ter) of  the  German  Seventh-day  Baptists. 

In  1724  Conrad  Beissel.  a  man  who 
learned  the  trade  of  weaver  under  Peter 
Becker,  the  first  Dunker  preacher  in  this 
country,  was  baptized  into  the  German 
Baptist  Church.  He  was  a  man  of  con- 
siderable intelligence  and  erudition,  and. 
accepting  the  idea  of  primitive  Christian- 
ity inculcated  by  that  society,  he  saw  no 
reason  why  they  stopped  short  of  com- 
plete reformation  and  return  to  the  prim- 
itive principles  of  the  Christian  Church  in 
respect  to  observing  the  seventh  instead 
of  the  first  day  of  the  week  as  the  Sabbath. 
Upon  this  subject  he  wrote  a  tract,  which 
he  published  in  the  year  1728.  This  crea- 
ted such  a  disturbance  in  the  society  of 
which  he  was  a  member,  a  society  which 
has  ever  jealously  guarded  itself  from  in- 
novations, that  he  was  compelled  to  with- 
draw himself  from  membership  with  it. 
He  retired  to  the  then  wilderness  along 
the  banks  of  t lie  Cocalico.  and  there  found 
a  hut  or  cave  that  had  once  heen  inhabit- 
ed by  a  hermit  called  Elimelech,  and  in  it 
established  himself  as  a  recluse.  In  time, 
however,  some  of  his  old  friends,  together 
with  others  who  had  hecome  convinced 
by  his  tract,  gathered  themselves  together 
around  his  retreat,  until  quite  a  number 
had  settled  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  once 
solitary  habitation.  About  the  year  1732 
this  recluse  life  was  changed  for  a  monas- 
tic one,  and  the  earliest  buildings  of  the 
Kloster  were  erected.  The  habit  of  the 
Capuchins,  or  White  Friars,  was  adopted 
by  the  new  monastic  society.  The  bro- 
thers wore  shirt,  trousers,  and  vest,  with 
a  long  white  gown  and  cowl  of  woollen 
web  in  winter  and  linen  in  summer.  The 
sisters'  costume  was  the  same,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  coarse  flannel  petticoat  sub 
stituted  for  the  trousers.  There  vrere  no 
vows  of  celibacy  exacted  or  taken,  al- 
though the  idea  was  considerably  incul- 
cated. Monastic  names  were  given  to  all 
who  entered  the  Kloster:  the  Prior,  Israel 
Fcherlin.  took  the  name  of  Onesimus  ; 
Beissel,  who  steadily  refused  to  accept  any 
position  of  influence,  took  that  of  Fried 
sam.  and  was  given  the  title  of  Spiritual 
Father  of  the  community. 


The  society  now  gathered  numbers,  in- 
somuch that  in  1740  there  were  thirty-six 
single  brothers  and  thirty -five  single  sis 
ters  in  their  respective  Klosters,  while  the 
community  numbered  nearly  three  hun- 
dred persons.  The  property  and  real  estate 
grew  to  be  of  great  value  as  the  farm  he- 
came  productive  and  mills  arose  on  the 
banks  of  the  Cocalico,  built  by  the  hands 
of  the  brethren  and  sisters  ;  and  this 
wealth  was  the  common  stock  of  the  so- 
ciety, and  the  income  was  devoted  to  the 
common  support.  None,  however,  was 
obliged  to  contribute  to  this  general  stock. 
The  mills  were  at  that  time  the  most  ex- 
tensive in  that  part  of  the  country,  em- 
bracing paper,  woollen,  saw,  and  grist 
mills;  but  of  these  little  or  no  vestige  now 
remains.  It  was  here  that  one  of  if  not 
the  very  first  printing-press  in  Pennsyl- 
vania was  erected,  and  the  books  and 
tracts  of  the  society  were  printed  witiiiu 
its  own  walls. 


MY   Cl 


782 


HARPER'S   NEW   MONTHLY   MAGAZINE. 


"IT    WAS    TO    REPRESENT    THE    NARROW    WAY. 


Not  the  least  singular  thing  ahout  this 
singular  people  was  their  music.  So  far 
as  we  are  able  to  discover,  it  is  now  near- 
ly if  not  quite  extinct  in  the  fast  decaying 
branches  of  the  society.  This  music  was 
composed  and  written  by  Beissel  himself. 
It  was  founded  upon  the  melodious  and 
plaintive  chords  of  the  iEolian  harp,  of 
which  Beissel  was  very  fond,  and  one  of 
which  he  had  in  his  cell.  It  is  written 
in  a  peculiar  melancholy  minor  key,  and 
was  sung  with  a  singularly  soft  modula- 
tion. 

Such  was  Ephrata  in  the  old  time, 
prosperous,  busy,  beautiful,  with  broad 
land,  with  smiling  pastures,  sunny  hills, 
and  dewy  dales.  But  now  all  its  glory 
has  passed.  All  its  prosperity  has  depart- 
ed, and  nothing  remains  but  ruin,  decay 
— and  picturesqueness.     The  last  celibate 


brother  passed  away 
years  ago,  and  the  celi- 
bate sisters  (there  are 
but  four  of  them),  with- 
out monastic  name, 
without  monastic  chess, 
plain,  matter-of-fact, 
elderly  German  wo- 
men, subsist  on  a  scanty 
allowance  of  fuel  and 
flour  from  the  estate, 
which  has  now  nearly 
passed  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  society. 

It  was  a  queer  old 
Dunker,  gnarled  and 
twisted,  scarred  and 
crooked  as  an  aged 
fruit  tree  past  fruit- 
bearing  time,  who  act- 
ed as  our  cicerone  in  an 
exploring  trip  through 
the  old  building  of  the 
Sisters'  Kloster.  He 
had  once  been  a  man  of 
more  than  ordinary  in- 
telligence among  his 
people,  but  age  and 
accident  had  snapped 
most  of  the  bright 
strands  of  his  intellect, 
though  many  still  re- 
mained. He  wore  a 
broad -brimmed  beaver 
hat,  showing  the  white 
here  and  there  at  the 
edges  where  the  fur  was 
worn  away,  beneath 
which  hung  his  long 
silvery  hair  almost  to  his  shoulders,  meet- 
ing with  the  voluminous  gray  beai'd  that 
lay  upon  his  breast.  He  wore  an  ancient 
and  much  used  coat  of  that  distinctive 
cut  so  much  affected  by  the  Society  of 
Friends.  It,  as  well  as  his  trousers,  which 
were  very  short,  made  of  homespun,  and 
of  a  color  brown  as  butternut,  was  patched 
in  numerous  places  with  some  darker  col- 
ored stuff. 

He  led  us  by  a  short-cut  to  the  build- 
ing, down  the  road  and  across  a  field, 
past  a  well-looking  flour-mill  of  modern 
build,  but  having  an  old  foundation.  It 
was  a  part  of  the  mills  of  the  palmy 
days  of  the  brotherhood.  Beyond  this 
we  crossed  a  stile,  cut  across  a  sunny 
field,  past  a  great  rambling  building  that 
had  once  been  the  Brothers'  House,  from 
which  faces  peeped  at  us  from  the  many 


A   PECULIAR  PEOPLE. 


783 


different  little  windows  (it  is  now  rented 
to  several  families),  and  so  readied  the 
Kloster  proper. 

The  great  building  fronts  toward  the 
northeast,  is  whitewashed,  and  forms  an 
L  with  the  chapel  adjoining.  This  is  the 
Sisters'  House,  and  very  comfortable  it 
looked  from  this  side,  the  queer  little 
windows  winking  down  at  us  in  the  sun. 
It  was  along  this  wall  that  the  wounded 
soldiers  sat,  waited  on  by  the  white-cowl- 
ed sisters,  after  the  bloody  fight  at  Bran- 
dywine.      Nearly   three   hundred   Amer- 


afterward  found,  but  live  feet  high  and 
twenty  inches  broad.  Our  old  cicerone 
saw  our  curiosity  at  this  and  explained  it 
to  us.  It  was  to  represent  the  narrow 
way  that  leads  to  everlasting  life,  and 
always  they  must  be  of  one  size,  five  feet 
high  and  twenty  inches  broad. 

We  passed  through  a  dormitory, 
through  a  dark  passage  into  the  chapel. 
It  was  a  low  room,  constructed  of  heavy 
beams  of  poplar  timber,  hewn  by  hand, 
and  built  by  the  members  of  the  society 
in  the  old  da  vs.      The  beams  were   dark 


"IT    WAS    ALOXG    THIS    WALL    THAT    T11K    WOl'XDED    SOLDIERS    SAT. 


ican    soldiers    were    brought    here    to    be 
nursed  by  the  sisterhood. 

The  old  Dunker  did  not  knock  at  the 
door,  but  walked  directly  in.  Leading  the 
way  down  a  long  passage  to  a  low-ceiled, 
whitewashed  room  where  a  wood  (in- 
crackled  in  a  large  stove,  making  the  ket- 
tle hum  pleasantly  to  itself.  An  old- 
fashioned  brass-handled  bureau  stood  on 
one  side,  some  quaint  high-backed  chairs 
stood  around,  a  very  thin  and  very  tall 
old  German  clock  stood  against  the  wall, 
its  top  almost  touching  the  ceiling, which, 
albeit,  was  only  seven  feet  high;  but 
what  most  struck  us  was  the  exceeding 
smallness  of  the  doors.     They    were,  we 


with  age.  but  the  walls  were  whitewashed 
to  a  spotless  purity,  and  the  light  that 
struggled  in  through  the  little  windows 
showed  thai  the  Boor  was  actually  worn 
with  scrubbing,  SO  painfully  clean  that  it 
seemed   almost    desecration    to  walk    upon 

it :  the  naii  beads  fairly  glistened  here  and 
there,  so  brightly  were  they  polished  with 
numberless  applications  of  soap  and  sand. 
Around  the  walls  were  a  number  of  curi- 
ous  antique-looking  cards  about  three  feet 

square,  bearing  mottoes  and  texts,  all 
printed  by  hand,  with  a  beauty  of  design 
and  delicacy  of  execution  tbat  mighl  rank 
them    with    the    lost   ait    of    \ellnm    inanu 

script  printing.    Some  of  the  designs  were 


7S1 


HARPERS   NEW   MONTHLY   MAGAZINE. 


INTERIOR    OF    CHAPEL. 


very  unique,  and  all  of  them  were  aged, 
even  mediaeval  looking.  One  of  them 
represented  the  narrow  way  leading  to 
eternal  life.  In  the  distance  were  numer- 
ous faces  and  figures  gathered  around  a 
lamb.  The  winding  path  that  led  to  this 
group  was  marked  witli  appropriate  texts 
from  Scripture  in  German,  many  relating 
to  the  blessedness  of  celibacy;  for  in- 
stance: "They  that  are  of  the  flesh  do 
mind  the  things  of  the  flesh,"  etc.;  "He 
that  is  unmarried  careth  for  the  things 
that  belong  to  the  Lord,"  etc. ;  and  others 
as  appropriate. 

Nothing  could  be  more  interesting  than 
our  ramble  through  this  great  barn-like 
old  building  under  the  guidance  of  one 


of  the  good  sisters.  Now  we  mounted  a 
steep  flight  of  stairs,  clinging  to  a  rope  by 
way  of  balustrade;  now  plunged  down  a 
long  mysterious  passageway  leading  into 
utter  darkness  and  mystery,  the  very  place 
for  a  good  ripe  ghost  of  some  long-pass- 
ed-away  cowled  and  hooded  sister;  now 
through  vacant  hallways  down  which  the 
wind  sighed  through  cracks  and  crannies 
as  it  lifted  the  loose  shingles  and  weather- 
boards outside,  making  them  crack  and 
flap  as  it  shook  them  about.  Here  and 
there  we  came  to  queer  little  rooms  piled 
high  with  furniture,  rickety  and  antique; 
here  we  discovered  some  curious  wooden 
household  utensils,  dishes,  platters, spoons, 
and  candlesticks,  of  turned  poplar  wood, 


A  CORNER   OF  SCOTLAND   WORTH   KNOWING. 


785 


used  in  the  earlier  love-feasts  and  house- 
hold life  of  the  community.  In  another 
room  we  found  a  great  hour-glass  stand- 
ing- in  the  window,  a  timepiece  that  had 
probably  drained  slowly  with  the  wa- 
ning life  of  some  former  head  sister  or 
Prioress;  and  here  was  a  hewn  hench  and 
billet  of  poplar  wood,  for  in  the  earlier 
days  the  brothers  and  sisters  stretched 
their  weary  limbs  at  night  upon  such 
benches,  and  reposed  their  weary  heads 


upon  such  billets;  not  from  motives  of 
piety,  but  of  economy.  All  was  vacant. 
barren  of  the  life  that  had  once  stirred  in- 
side of  it;  but  here  and  there,  as  a  little 
oasis  in  this  desert  of  mouldering  loneli 
ness,  some  old  sister  had  gathered  togeth- 
er a  lot  of  the  best  preserved  furniture, 
and  had  fitted  up  a  room  where  the  old 
dame  herself  was  sleepily  awaiting  the 
coining  of  the  great  night  that  should 
give  her  rest  forever. 


PRESTOXPANS. 


A   CORNER  OF   SCOTLAND    WORTH   KNOWING. 

BY  PROFESSOR  W.  G.  BLAIKIE,  D.D. 


MELROSE  and  Abbotsford  have  got 
such  a  monopoly  of  interest  for 
strangers  who  have  a  day  or  two  to  spend 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Edinburgh  that  it 
is  very  difficult  to  induce;  them  to  think 
favorably  of  any  other  region.  We  have 
no  wish  to  dispute  the  pre-eminent  claims 
of  the  immortal  abbey  and  the  home  of 
the  poet;  yet  we  venture  to  think  that 
they  are  not  the  only  places  within  an 
hour  of  the  Scottish  metropolis  worthy  of 
the  stranger's  notice.  We  are  going  to 
put  in  a  claim  for  an  interesting  corner 
on   the  southern   shore   of   the  Firth    id' 


Forth,  renowned  for  its  ruined  castles  and 
the  island-rocks  on  which  it  looks  out; 
associated  with  names  and  events  in  the 
past  that  men  love  to  recall ;  and  now.  in 
these  piping  times  of  peace,  enjoying  a 
renown  of  a  different  kind,  as  having  the 
most  bracing  climate  to  be  found  perhaps 
in  all  the  British  Isles,  and  forming  a  fa 
vorite  resort  of  sea-side  visitors  and  others 
in  search  of  health  and  recreation. 

Suppose  we  set  out  from  the  Waverley 

station,  and  take  a  return  ticket  to  North 
Berwick.  It  is  but  an  hour's  ride,  and  if 
we  start  early  a   long  day    is  before  us. 


7bG 


HARPER'S   NEW   MONTHLY   MAGAZINE. 


HADDINGTON    CHURCH,  WHERE    MRS.  CARLYLE   IS    BCRIED. 


Passing  Portobello,  a  sea -side  suburb  of 
Edinburgh,  we  take  the  seaboard  line  of 
rail.  A  few  miles'  ride  brings -us  to  Pres- 
tonpans,  and  we  are  soon  on  the  field  of 
Preston,  where,  in  1745,  Prince  Charlie  and 
his  Highlanders  inflicted  a  crushing  de- 
feat on  the  royal  troops.  The  Prince  had 
already  got  possession  of  Edinburgh,  and, 
under  Sir  John  Cope,  the  King's  troops 
were  "hurrying  up"  from  the  south  for 
the  purpose  of  checking  the  victorious 
rebels.  The  Prince  and  li is  Highlanders 
came  out  from  Edinburgh  to  meet  them, 
and  on  a  foggy  September  morning  fell 
upon  them  before  daylight,  and  in  four 
minutes,  it  is  said,  routed  and  all  but  an- 
nihilated them.  Colonel  Gardiner  had 
command  of  a  squadron  of  cavalry  whom 
he  encouraged  to  the  utmost,  but,  seized 
with  panic,  they  fled.  The  gallant  old 
man  then  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  a 
body  of  infantry,  but  he  was  cut  down  by 
numerous  wounds.  There  are  no  traces 
now  of  the  morass  that  separated  the 
armies,  by  clearing  which  before  day- 
break unobserved,  the  Highlanders  pain 


ed  so  great  an  advantage  for  their  attack. 
Fertile  fields,  beautifully  cultivated,  now 
cover  the  whole  space.  Yet  on  a  misty 
morning  one  may  fancy  the  impetuous 
charge  of  the  Highlanders,  with  their 
dirks  and  claymores,  their  scowling  faces 
and  shaggy  locks,  and  the  bewilderment 
of  the  English  soldiers  as  some  wild  mon- 
ster fell  upon  them,  with  his  sword  in  one 
hand  and  his  dirk  in  the  other,  killing 
two  at  a  time,  or  wielding  a  scythe  blade 
at  the  end  of  a  pole  with  force  enough  to- 
sever  the  uplifted  arm  and  fracture  the 
skull  of  his  opponent  by  a  single  blow. 
It  is  difficult  to  keep  one's  sympathies 
from  the  side  of  the  pretender  even  yet; 
though  one  can  well  see  what  a  dismal 
thing  it  would  have  been  for  Scotland 
and  for  the  cause  of  liberty  had  the  suc- 
cess at  Preston  been  followed  by  corre- 
sponding victories  elsewhere. 

A  few  miles  further  brings  us  to  the 
station  of  Longniddry,  from  which  a 
branch  line  goes  off  to  Haddington,  the 
capital  of  the  county. 

Haddington  has  come  into  public  view 


■) 


